


The Teyrn who loved me

by snowyfairy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, More Couples to Be Added, Rating May Change, minor Josephine/Blackwal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyfairy/pseuds/snowyfairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr.Cullen Rutherford was a man perfectly comfortable with his position in life.<br/>At the age of 28, he was the master of a reasonably sized estate, with an income of 50.000 sovereigns a year and no intentions of marrying anytime soon.<br/>However, after his cousin died, passing to him the title of Teyrn, finding a wife suddenly became a matter of pressing urgency.  </p>
<p>The beautiful and witty Miss Evelyn Trevelyan caught his interest almost at first sight, but the young lady seems to have already decided that he is not a man she could be persuaded to marry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Teyrn who loved me

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings!  
> First of all, it makes me very happy to know that you thought this little piece of writing might be worthy of you time. I must be fair, however, and warn you of some things. I’m Brazilian and this is my first attempt at writing in English, so I might have made (many) grammar and syntax mistakes. If you decide to proceed and spot any such mistakes, please let me know so I can try to avoid them in the future.  
> Also, I did try my best to merge the feeling of regency romance with the world of Thedas, but if you have suggestions, please let me know as well.  
> Many thanks to my dear friend Cowny who was kind enough to proofread this chapter and correct my most flagrant mistakes.

 

**Chapter One**

 

_Codex 1: Sunfields. An excerpt from the Fereldan Encyclopedia._

 S _unfields is a region of Ferelden, situated between The Hinterlands and the Southron Hills. It owns its name to the bright fields of a yellow variety of Embrium flower commonly found in this part of Thedas. Although most natural fields of yellow Embrium have been cleared to make way for farms and plantations, it has become customary for the Teyrn of Sunfields to maintain a large field of yellow Embrium flowers somewhere close to his residence. The current Teyrn is Frederick Pavrel, of House Pavrel. The seat of the Teryn is Clovehill Mansion._

 

_Codex 2: A letter hastily written by Mr.Cullen Rutherford to his sister, Mrs.Mia Ferrers._

_I apologize for the briefness of this letter and the lack of mother’s usual refinement, but I am afraid she is in no condition to write at the present moment. We received word earlier this morning informing that Cousin Frederick and both of his sons died in a shipwreck a few days ago. As you must imagine, Mother is very upset by the news, and requested that you come to Honnleath as soon as you receive this note._

 

 

After many minutes of careful consideration, Cullen cautiously opened the door and glanced inside the room. He could see his mother’s downcast figure sitting on the Grecian couch, lowered head to stare at an object she held in her hands, and was relieved to find that she did not appear to be crying. Carefully, he stepped inside the room, balancing the tea set atop the tray he had taken from a maid. The soft tinkling of china attracted his mother’s attention and she turned her sad, slightly hazy eyes towards him.

“Cullen,” Adele Rutherford said, affectionately. She was a small woman with a round, agreeable face and green eyes that now looked as distant and sad as the ocean.

“I-I brought tea,” he declared, unable to think of anything better to say.

“Oh, just what I need, my dear,” despite her sorrow, Mrs.Rutherford still managed to smiled kindly at her son. “You are so very thoughtful”.

Cullen placed the tray on top of the side table and poured two cups of the steaming tea. As he took a seat beside her, his mother took one cup in her hands and sipped, absent-mindedly.

“I was thinking,” Mrs. Rutherford said, “that it was fortunate that Cousin Frederick’s wife passed away two years ago. I cannot think how terrible it would have been for her, should she have to endure the loss of her husband and two sons at once.”

“We must find comfort anywhere we can,” he said solemnly.

“I remember the day we lost your father,” Mrs.Rutherford continued. “There were moments when I wished I could have died with him. Then I remembered my children. And I knew I could never leave you.”

She reached for Cullen’s hand, her fingers warm because of her firm grip on the tea cup. Cullen searched every corner of his mind for something to say, a word that could ease his mother’s suffering, but found nothing.

“And we are thankful for that,” he said simply, earning a smile he did not felt that he deserved.

There was a brief silence, in which Cullen sipped his tea awkwardly, still trying to compose some comforting words. He knew his mother and her cousin had been very close friends, even after Adele married and moved to Honnleath. Following the death of Uncle Fergus, Frederick became the Teyrn of Sunfields, and his new responsibilities often kept him from visiting or from being a frequent correspondent, but Mrs.Rutherford always spoke of him very fondly. Cullen was certain that his death must have been a terrible shock to her.

“I recently realized how many of the people I cherish and love are dead,” Mrs.Rutherford said, her eyes fixated on the object she had been holding to moments ago. It was a badge engraved with the Pevrel family’s - his mother’s family’s - coat of arms. “Your father, then my father, and my uncle not long after… Almost every member of my family is now dead...”

Cullen tightened his grip on the hand she still kept on his and cursed himself for being incapable of speaking when it was most necessary. His mother was a strong, admirable woman who never once complained or faltered when faced with hardships. Cullen remembered her being adamant on her resolve of keeping only one nursemaid, even after her fourth child was born, for she understood the delicate state of the house’s finances. After his father passed away, she comforted her children and kept a kind, warm smile on her face at all times, despite the terrible pain she most certainly felt at the loss of her beloved husband. Cullen wished he could be like her, bestowed with the supernatural ability to say the very right thing, the magical words that would always turn the world right. Yet he was but a mumbling fool when it came to such occasions.

“We are still here,” he said, weakly. “Branson, Rosalie and I. And Mia, too.”

Mrs.Rutherford smiled at him, but her smile was still far too sad to reach her eyes.

“I know, my dear,” she said, “and I could never ask the Maker for better children.”

She sipped her tea again, lowering her distant eyes to the floor, and the words came to Cullen’s mouth before he even realized he was speaking.

“‘Though all before me is shadow / Yet shall the Maker be my guide’.”

Mrs.Rutherford closed her eyes and set the teacup on the side table, her hands suddenly trembling slightly.

“‘I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.’” Cullen proceeded.

He watched a tear gleam on the corner of his mother’s eye and wondered, nervously, whether he did right to quote the Chant of Light.

“‘For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light’,” Mrs.Rutherford’s voice joined his harmoniously, though she appeared to be on the verge of tears, “‘And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. I am not alone. Even / As I stumble on the path / With my eyes closed, yet I see.”

Mrs.Rutherford, whose voice had been breaking for many verses, finally surrendered to her tears, covering her mouth in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“‘The Light is here’,” Cullen finished, raising his arms to envelop his mother’s trembling figure in a hug. She allowed her entire weight to rest on his shoulders as wave after wave of sobs shook her body. Cullen remained in silence, caressing her mother’s hair with careful, gentle strokes.

Several minutes later, when Mrs.Rutherford’s sobs had been reduced to soft sniffs and her shoulders ceased shaking, a knock was heard on the door.

“E-enter,” Mrs.Rutherford said, attempting, it seemed, to make her voice sound firm, but failing.

Bates, the house’s butler, stepped into the room and immediately assumed a formal stance, careful to keep his eyes away from his mistress.

“A Mr.Bryson to see you, Ser,” he said.

“And who in the void would Mr.Bryson be?” Cullen asked, unable to keep the exasperation away from his voice.

“He claims to be the steward of the deceased Teyrn,” informed Bates.

Cullen sighed, resignated, but still very frustrated. He had foreseen that the Teyrn would leave some of his possessions to his dear cousin Adele, but could the matters of the testament not be discussed after the mourning period? What affair could possibly be so urgent that the man had to run from Sunfields to Honnleath barely five days after his employer's death?

“I shall see him in the Drawing Room,” said Cullen as he stood up.

He, then, placed a kiss on his mother’s forehead and headed out of the room.

 

Mr.Bryson was a tall man with a very well groomed mustache that seemed to have been trimmed with a ruler. He had not taken a seat in the Drawing Room, though Cullen was sure Bates would have invited him to.

“Mr.Rutherford,” the steward said as they shook hands, “I am the deceased Teyrn’s administrator. Please, accept my condolences for you loss.”

“Thank you,” said Cullen, although he had very little contact with the Teyrn or his sons during his life. “Please, have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand, thank you,” said Mr.Bryson, impatiently. Cullen could tell the man was anxious to discuss business. “The matter which brought me here on this occasion is of a very delicate nature, but it needs to be dealt with with haste.”

“I am all ears.” Unwilling to seat and place himself in a lower position, Cullen leaned against the mantelpiece as he spoke.

“As you must be aware, the deceased Teyrn only had two sons, and they both died along with him on the accident,” said Mr.Bryson, with the lack of sentiment a person would use to describe the weather, “so his title must pass on to the closest living male on his family.”

Had Cullen been less annoyed by the stranger’s presence keeping him from comforting his grieving mother, he would have guessed exactly where Mr.Bryson’s speech was leading him. In his current state of mind, however, he limited himself to wonder why on Thedas was that of any consequence to him and what would it take to make the man leave.

“Since your grandfather, the deceased Teyrn’s uncle, also died and your mother is a woman,” continued Mr.Bryson, “the title and most of the Teryn’s possessions must then pass on to you, Mr. Rutherford.”

Cullen’s mind, which have been composing polite ways to extricate Mr.Bryson from his house, went peculiarly blank as the meaning of those words penetrated his conscience.

“I-I beg you pardon?” he mumbled, bewildered.

“Congratulations, Mr.Cullen Rutherford,” said the steward in a remarkably indifferent tone, “you are the new Teyrn of Sunfields.”

 

Miss Josephine Montilyet was the happiest woman in the world. After months of shy courting, during which she used all of her wits to encourage and make her interest clear without being improper, the man she loved finally proposed to her. Lord Montilyet had (however reluctantly) given them his blessing and she was already composing her trousseau with the help of her mother (and her very insistent younger sister).

Under normal circumstances, a young woman such as Miss Montilyet would be thrilled with the perspective of sharing the wonderful news of her escaping spinsterhood with her dearest friends, and then receiving from them their most heartfelt, exultant congratulations. However, Lady Montilyet’s friends were very much unlike any ordinary young women in Orlais, thus their reaction to the news of Josephine’s engagement was as unpredictable as the King of Nevarra’s moods. Therefore it was with some uneasiness that she took her carriage and headed for Number 4, Rue de Rose, where she and her friends met almost daily during the season in Val Royeaux.

“Miss Montilyet,” greeted the tall, balding butler, coincidentally called Butler, after he opened the door to Josephine, “may I take your jacket?”

Josephine allowed the old butler to take her grayish jacket and accompanied him upstairs to the Trevelyan’s drawing room.

“Miss Montilyet,” Butler announced to the sole occupant of the elegantly decorated room, the daughter of Bann Gareth Trevelyan.

Miss Evelyn Trevelyan, beautiful with her dark brown curls and light green muslin dress, stood up from her comfortable flower-patterned armchair to greet her friend. Her face was lit with one of her easy, hearty smiles as she proceeded to hold Josephine’s hands on her own.

“Josephine,” she greeted, “as usual, you are the most punctual in the group”.

“As etiquette prescribes,” said Josephine, pretending to diligently straighten her perfectly unruffled clear blue dress before smiling back at Evelyn.

“Thus, as expected of Miss Josephine Montilyet,” chanted Evelyn joyfully. “Do sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” Josephine hoped the tea would ease her anxiety and the slight pang of guilt she felt when reminded of the news she was about to deliver. It would, undoubtedly, be a great shock, and that was probably to say the least.

“Leliana and Cassandra shall be here soon,” said Evelyn as she poured tea in two of the four white china cups set atop the round side table. “Leliana said she has exciting news for us”.

Another pang of guilt and anxiety.

“Ooh, does she?” Josephine asked, her voice wavering ever so slightly. “Well, I also have some… exciting news”.

“Wonderful,” said Evelyn, handing Josephine a cup of steaming tea. “We shall begin as soon as they arrive. Meanwhile, have you started reading the last chapter of Swords and Shields yet?”

“Ah… no, I’m afraid not,” admitted Josephine, breathing in the lovely scent of earl gray in an attempt to calm herself. “Yesterday was… quite the eventful day.”

“Oh, you must read it as soon as you can,” encouraged Evelyn, her eyes gleaming with the excitement only a very good novel could provide. “I shall not spoil it for you, but it is marvelous.”

“I shall read it as soon as I return home, then.”

It was then that Butler reentered the room to announce. “Miss Pentaghast and Miss Vasseur.”

As Cassandra Pentaghast and Leliana Vasseur entered the room, Josephine paused to consider the strong contrast they made to each other as they stood side by side. Leliana was the perfect image of a proper Orlesian young woman, with her lovely red curls adorning a serene expression and beautifully complementing her pale lilac dress. With hands delicately folded in front of her, she was a sight to bring tears to any mother of a single man in want of a wife.

Cassandra, on the other hand, although elegantly dressed in pale gold, had a wild look about her that Josephine could never quite place. Perhaps it was the tanned, exotic features of her Navarran lineage, or the small scar next to her right eye. Or perhaps it was simply the way she posed, as though she was always ready to run and slay a dragon.

Josephine knew both of them far too well to be fooled by appearances. She was quite aware that Leliana’s peaceful exterior was but a cover for her fierceness of character and that Cassandra, on the other hand, was a very sensitive, romantic young woman.

While Josephine mused, Evelyn stood to greet the other ladies with the same enthusiasm and affection she devoted to Miss Montilyet’s arrival. While Cassandra took a seat beside Josephine on the couch and Leliana settled herself on an armchair in front of Evelyn, a young Elven maid entered the room carrying a tray filled with a large assortment of sweets and cakes, and deposited it in the table next to the tea set. Evelyn thanked the maid and waited until the door closed behind her before saying, in a rather pompous voice:

“As we are all finally here, I declare this meeting officially open. I recall both Leliana and Josephine having news to share with us. Who would like to go first?”

“I believe it would be best if you went first, Josie,” said Leliana in a soft, indifferent tone that would have fooled Josephine had she not seen the look on her face. A very knowing, very meaningful look.

“A-alright,” said Josephine, nervously, studying her friends’ faces carefully and allowing herself a moment to think.

Theirs was as unlikely a friendship as you could find, blossoming under even more unlikely circumstances. It all started five years ago, at a dinner party offered by Lady Ariana Pentaghast shortly after her niece Cassandra’s debut in polite society. Josephine was also out in that same year and was still terribly afraid of taking a misstep that would send her tumbling into disgrace, even though her childhood friend Leliana kept assuring her that she was in no such danger. Evelyn Trevelyan, who was already in her second season, felt comfortable enough to arrange a gathering between the only unmarried women in the party next to a cabinet in the corner of the room, but did not anticipate a complete lack of conversation topic. The four young ladies stood in uncomfortable silence for many minutes until Cassandra gasped and quickly moved her foot, as though to kick something under the cabinet next to them. She tried to elaborate an explanation about the strange behaviour, but Leliana was already crouched to the floor, announcing loudly that she lost her earring. When the redhead rose to her high once again, she had a mischievous grin on her face, and established a topic of conversation, as well as a convergence point on their paths. From that day onwards, the four ladies became best friends on grounds of a common interest: erotic romance novels.

Initially they would come together only to discuss their favorite author and characters, but eventually the subject of conversations moved to the history of Thedas, best boutiques in Val Royeaux, the succession of the Nevarran throne, single men in search of wives, and whatever else they deemed worthy of their time. They would also meet when it was not season, gathering at the Trevelyan’s solar in Ostwick to go out in exploring rides or at the Pentaghast’s castle in Nevarra to tell horror stories at night.

They had been by, all accounts, inseparable since that night at Lady Pentaghast’s dinner party, and Josephine’s announcement could change everything.

“I would like you to know,” said Josephine, “that I am engaged to the Baron of Blackwall.”

Silence ruled over the room for many seconds.

“You are _what?_ ” exclaimed Evelyn, setting down her cup of tea with such force it seemed a miracle it didn’t break to pieces.

“Engaged,” repeated the Antivan, trying to sound as though she simply announced the color of her sister’s new evening gown.

“How did this happen? It is unbelievable,” declared Cassandra, equally astonished, her cup halted halfway to her mouth. “Do you not think so, Leliana?”

“ _I_ already knew,” said the redhead, casually reaching for a muffin.

“How could you possibly know?” asked Josephine, though she already suspected that might be the case. “I have not told anyone but my parents and siblings.”

Leliana offered her a kind, yet almost condescending smile. “Must you really ask, Josie?”

“I suppose not,” conceded Josephine, deciding, like many times before, it was best not to pursue the matter of how Leliana gathered information.

“Back to the topic at hand,” insisted Cassandra, impatiently, “how did it happen? And when?”

“Yesterday morning,” reported Josephine, somewhat guiltily, even though she knew there was no real reason for guilty. “The Baron called very early in the morning and requested a moment alone with me. He even brought me flo…”

“I cannot believe you are about to betray us!” interrupted Evelyn, a dramatic hand placed over the neckline of her dress, right above her heart.

“Oh, Maker’s Breath,” sighed Josephine. Evelyn’s reaction was even worse than she feared. “I’m about to get married, not convert to the Qun.”

“You’re about to abandon us,” decided Evelyn, teary eyes fixated in a far point over Josephine’s head in exaggerated grief. “You will no longer come to our meetings. No longer share confidences and idle gossip with us.”

“Evelyn, must you be so dramatic? It is a marriage, not a death sentence,” insisted Josephine in her most reasonable tone, as though to force her friend to see sense. “Besides, who stated that I shall stop coming to our meetings after I am married?”

“I do doubt your husband-to-be will approve of you meeting with your friends to discuss torrid romance novels and take sword fight lessons,” observed Cassandra. Compared to Evelyn, she looked much more composed, but Josephine did not fail to notice the sharpness in her voice.

“I should very much like to see him try to stop me,” declared Josephine with dignity.

Another short silence reigned as all the women looked at Josephine in surprise. Then, Cassandra threw her head back in laughter and Leliana smiled in amusement. Glancing sheepishly at Evelyn, Josephine was relieved to see her mischievous grin.

“You shall probably never have to see it,” said Lady Trevelyan, reaching again for her cup of tea. “Baron Blackwall is so perfectly blind with love for you that I doubt he would oppose to selling all his possessions and moving to Rivein if you so desired.”

Josephine could not suppress a hearty laugh, even as her cheeks blushed slightly.

“Does this mean you are no longer mad at me?” she asked with a hopeful smile.

“You know we can never stay mad at you, Josephine,” said Evelyn, tipping her head affectionately.

“I was not even mad to begin with,” noted Leliana.

“Alright, none of us were actually mad to begin with,” admitted Evelyn with a chuckle. “It _was_ good sport, though. I do wish you could have seen the look on your face.”

“Well, _I_ was a little mad,” admitted Cassandra, fixating Josephine with a stern look that would have had much more of an effect was she not suppressing a grin, “but only because you did not tell us the situation with Lord Reiner had progressed to such stage.”

“Oh, yes. You simply must tell us how it happened,” declared Leliana, getting up from her comfortable armchair to place herself beside Josephine on the couch. “All the details.”

“That you must. And before I forget,” said Evelyn, picking a pink frosted little cake from the trail, “congratulations on your engagement, Josephine.”

However happy Josephine felt before, she realized it was nothing compared to how she felt then. Her friends demanded to hear every detail, not only of the proposal itself, but of all the circumstances which lead to it. Only after Josephine had described the type of flowers her suitor offered her and repeated - word by word - his speech, did the other ladies considered themselves satisfied with the report and returned to their seats (for they have all been huddled together for the past fifteen minutes).

“I am surprised,” declared Cassandra. “I would not have guessed the Baron to be a man capable of being so thoughtful. Romantic, even.”

“Well, I am not surprised in the least,” said Evelyn. “Even if the Baron was not a man prone to thoughtfulness, it was unquestionable that Josephine _would_ inspire it in him. There is no question that he would do anything for her.”

Josephine’s heart fluttered at the mere thought of having such effect on Mr.Reinier and she felt her face blush.

“You must be very happy, Josie,” said Leliana, smiling at her.

“I am. I feel very fortunate indeed,” she assured, blissfully. “There is only one way I could be happier, and that would be for all of you to have the same fortune.”

“Ah,” Evelyn grimaced, “I must admit that I feel rather pessimistic regarding _my_ chances of ever achieving such happiness.”

“You must not say that,” said Josephine anxiously. “You are a very beautiful, intelligent and charming...”

“Oh, she has no doubts about her own accomplishments, I assure you, Josephine,” chimed Cassandra.

“Indeed I have none,” grinned Evelyn. “What I _do_ have doubts about is the existence of a man who could make me feel inclined towards marriage.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Josephine, surprised.

“I mean there are requirements I expect my future husband to fulfill. Such as above the average intelligence, great sense of humor, and a passion for a good (also some bad) novel,” Evelyn listed, proudly, “and I shall not put up with anyone less qualified.”

“Oh,” made Josephine, and laughed shortly after, “I suppose I should not have expected any different.”

“Indeed,” said Cassandra, “Evelyn is even more demanding than I am.”

“I’m curious,” said Leliana. “What are _your_ requirements for a perfect suitor, Cassandra?”

“My demands are modest. I require only an extraordinary courtship,” declared the Navarran lady. “Flowers, poems, perhaps a dangerous act to prove his love.”

“I see,” chucked Leliana. “Very appropriate.”

“Enough with the talk about husbands,” decided Evelyn. “Leliana, did you not say you have news for us?”

“Indeed I have.”

“Feel free to share them,” prompted the Free Marcher.

“Alright, I shall tell you,” Leliana smiled and allowed silence to linger in order to build anticipation. “I have heard from a reliable source…”

“One which you will not share with us,” interrupted Cassandra.

“My informants value their privacy,” said Leliana coolly. “As I was saying, I have heard from a reliable source that the author of Swords and Shields and related novels is expected to make an appearance at the current season in Val Royeaux.”

The expression of bewilderment on the other ladies’ faces seemed to please Leliana deeply, for she let out a soft laugh.

“I was quite shocked as well,” she guaranteed, “but I was assured that the information is accurate.”

“Maker preserve me,” exclaimed Cassandra, posing her hand on her chest as though afraid her heart would stop at any moment. “Could this be true? Should we really be able to meet her?”

“You still insist it is a woman, then?” asked Leliana curiously.

“It must be!” said Cassandra. “I cannot imagine a man being so familiar with the...the...” she blushed profusely, “the _feelings_ … of a woman. I wager she should be an older lady. With quite a lot of… experience.”

“We shall find out,” said Evelyn enthusiastically. “Do you have a name? How are we to know who he or she is?”

“Unfortunately, my informant said he could not provide me with a name,” stated Leliana, “but he assured he would inform me when the author arrived and to which social events they would attend. It should not be too difficult to guess their identity then.”

“I do not think it would be very appropriate for us to approach such a person,” declared Josephine.

“And why in the world not?” asked Cassandra, staring at Josephine as though a demon had sprouted from her ears.

“Well, the books he or she writes are hardly… appropriate literature for young respectable women,” Josephine noted uncomfortably, anticipating annoyed retorts and cold dismissals. “To be seen talking to them…”

“Josie, you worry far too much,” chuckled Leliana. “They write under a pen name. And I hardly think they should go around announcing in polite society that they write erotic novels for a living. I expect it should be perfectly safe to approach them.”

Josephine considered Leliana’s argument for a few moments before finally allowing her lips to form a smile that mirrored her friend’s.

“Alright, I supposed there would be no harm in that.”

“Wonderful,” smiled Evelyn. “Prepare yourself, Josephine. This will be your last season as an unmarried woman, and I intend to make it memorable”

“This is delightful to hear,” laughed Josephine, “but please try not to ruin me before my wedding.”

“I shall make no such promises.”

 

With a series of perfectly cadenced movements, Cullen struck the straw dummy five times with his sword. After that, keeping a steady sidestep, he circled the dummy and dealt three well executed blows to his back.

That was his activity of choice when it came to calming restless nerves. Be it because the training forced his mind to focus on the movements of his body rather than the worries on his mind, be it simply because it felt nice to hit something, he always sought his sword and went out to the garden whenever he felt stressed or anxious.

And the news that he was about to be made Teryn of Sunfields had both effects on his mind.

Circumstances urged the note that Cullen was no stranger to responsibilities. His father passed away when he was barely sixteen years old, leaving him the care for his mother, three siblings and a medium sized estate. Although he held no title, Mr. Elliot Rutherford still owned a considerable portion of land and had many tenants depending on his administration. Cullen’s older sister, Mia, who had a good head for finances and a slightly meddlesome disposition, occasionally helped him with work, but, ultimately, the welfare of the family and the property depended sorely on his own sense and diligence.

He understood, however, that the responsibilities that befell on a Teyrn were of much greater proportions. Not only was the teyrnir incredibly more vast than his lands, consequently housing a much larger number of tenants, but there were also matters to be discussed at the Landsmeeting and many, many other obligations.

With a shudder, he remembered that one of such obligations would be to make appearances at the seasons in Val Royeaux and make connections. He expected his new status to undoubtedly attract the interest of the Orlesian nobles, who, until then, had never paid much, if any, attention to him at all. That thought made him growl and he hit the straw dummy with twice as much force as before.

And it was in that particular brand of dreadful mood that his sister found him.

“The Teyrn of Sunfields!”

Cullen stopped his diligent assaults on the straw dummy to turn towards the familiar voice. Mia Ferrers (nee Rutherford), slightly plumper than he remembered and dressed in black, marched on his direction through the lawn, smiling broadly.

“Maker’s Breath,” grumbled Cullen, running his hand over his forehead to wipe off the sweat, “have you no respect for our deceased relatives?”

“I am in mourning clothes, am I not?” Mia stopped in front of her panting brother, gesturing impatiently to her black dress. “Besides, I barely knew them at all, and if memory does not fail me, the former Teyrn’s sons were both scoundrels.”

“You could at least be sympathetic to Mother’s grief.”

“I _was_ careful enough to look sad and teary eyed in front of _her,”_ said Mia, dismissively, “but I expect _you_ should have other matters on your mind. Such as your new excellent position in life and exciting prospects?”

“I do _not_ consider the Teyrn’s position to be excellent, nor do I see any exciting prospect in the entire affair,” declared Cullen, exasperated. “I foresee not only a great deal of work, which is not by itself such a terrible perspective, but also endless hours enduring the company of pampered, pompous, power-hungry nobles.”

“You have no ambition,” tutted Mia, “but I supposed it is no shock coming from a child who always declared he would much rather be a templar than a king.”

“And I still would.”

“Well, I suppose all that remains for me to say is that I still love you, despite all of your flaws, baby-brother.”

Cullen growled again. He took pride in being a calm, mild-mannered man who seldom lost his temper, but Mia possessed the innate ability to poke bullet-like holes in his tranquility of mind with very little effort.

“I am not a baby!” he protested.

“You will always be a baby to be.” It was definitively not a fair statement, since Mia had only been two years old when Cullen was born, which made it was quite unlikely for her to have many memories of him as an actual baby, but she always took great pleasure in claiming such feelings. Before he could retort, and so she could have the last word on the disagreement, she added, “we should go inside. Your nieces are very anxious to see their Uncle Cullen, the new Teyrn.”

Deciding it was best not to say anything else and keep his pride intact, Cullen simply wavered his head and offered his arm to his sister, who took it as they started to walk back to the house.

“There’s one thing you must see to at once, though,” said Mia, as though continuing a conversation they never started.

“And what would that be?” Cullen sighed.

“You must find a wife.”

“I have no such need,” protested Cullen, “I am only 28 years old and that is still an acceptable age to be single.”

“But you _are_ a Teyrn now.”

“And I suspect that you are quite obsessed with the notion,” he pointed out in annoyance.

“Not as much as all the mothers of single daughters on Thedas shall be.”

Cullen stopped to look at his sister, eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“What could you possibly mean by that?”

Mia laughed the short, high-pitched laugh she reserved for the times when she was about to prove to her siblings that she was the superior creature among them.

“I mean to say that you are now one of the most eligible men in all of Thedas,” explained Mia, sounding very much amused. “Young, rich, and very well situated. And the fact that you are very handsome as well...” she laughed softly again. “I expect they will be upon you like vultures on a day old corpse.”

“Now that is an image,” grunted Cullen.

“A very accurate one,” said Mia, “and you should note that the only salvation for your hide is to find a wife as quickly as you can. For every moment you remain single you shall look like a banquet to them.”

Although he would never admit it to himself, Mia’s dreadful metaphor was quite efficient to her intended goals. Cullen suspected he would be haunted for days by the mental image of several voucher-like Orlesian ladies surrounding him and trying to bite off pieces of his skin, squawking that he should marry their daughters.

“You know what wisdom says,” chanted Mia when he failed to retort, “a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

Cullen shuddered slightly at the sound of the old saying his grandmother was particularly fond of. It sounded terribly ominous now. But he supposed he _was_ a man in possession of a good fortune. So perhaps it _was_ really best for him to find wife. And very soon.

 


End file.
